Four Attempts and One Success
by ScribbleWiggy
Summary: Four times an assassin tries to kill the Dragonborn, and the one time he does something different instead.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, nor do I own any of the Skyrim characters that make a brief appearance in this short story.**

* * *

 **So, since Cry and Hainin are such good pals, I decided it was time to write a story reflecting that friendship. Therefore, this was born.  
**

 **I was actually going to write two separate one-shots, in order to bridge the gap between _ATJ_ and the yet-to-be-named final addition to this "series", but then I decided that it was better to combine the two. **

**Still, that doesn't mean there won't be another one-shot sometime soon. It just depends on whether or not I get the final addition completed first.**

 **Anyhow, enjoy!**

* * *

 **Four Attempts and One Success**

* * *

He hadn't wanted to leave the Sanctuary. It was snowing outside, something it rarely ever did in their part of the forest, and the last thing he wanted to do was go tromping out into it to track a mark.

But, Astrid had been insistent, and so he'd gone tromping out into it, grumbling quietly to himself, hands tucked under his armpits to keep them warm.

The target had, reportedly, been spotted in Falkreath the day before. Astrid told him that the man paying for the target's death was paying more than the usual sum, and had sacrificed his own mother in order to reach them.

 _More's the pity to him, then_ , the assassin thought numbly to himself as he reached Falkreath, shivering, _if the target isn't even here_.

He could only guess what the target had done to the summoner, for the man to have taken such drastic measures in order to contact the Brotherhood. Who _killed their mother_ , anyhow?

The assassin drew to a pause as the thought crossed his mind. Plenty killed their mothers, probably, although he imagined more killed their fathers. After all, fathers usually did the physical beating, and it was easier to succumb to that than the mental beatings mothers were known for.

Shaking his head, both to remove the thoughts, and the snow from his hair, the assassin pushed his way into the inn. He needed to find out if the target was still in the city, and no doubt the innkeeper was the best source to ask.

He walked up to the bar and leaned casually against it, trying his best not to look as though he were in desperate need of a hot drink, and a warm blanket.

The innkeeper offered him a dry smile. "Cold out, eh?"

The assassin chose not to respond, and the innkeeper lost the grin. "Need a drink?"

"It'd be appreciated."

The innkeeper nodded and turned away to retrieve the drink for him. When the steaming mug was placed on the counter, the assassin gripped it in both hands and took a drink. The warm mead settled into his belly, and he released a silent, relieved breath before looking at the innkeeper once more.

"Thank you," he said, settling once more into his 'scary assassin' character. "Now, I need some information."

"What kind, stranger?" the innkeeper queried, obviously trying not to look interested and concerned at the same time.

"Has anyone new come to Falkreath, recently?" the assassin asked. "Young female Nord?"

The innkeeper gazed at him for a moment, and the assassin narrowed his eyes, doing his best to convey 'terrifying' through them. After a moment, the innkeeper looked away.

"Yes. A young Nord woman arrived last night, late. She was exhausted, and looking for a place to stay, so I gave her a room for less than my usual rate." He nodded towards one of the closed doors against the wall of the inn. "That one, there. She left this morning and hasn't come back, but when I went in there to sweep, I saw that she'd left behind some of her possessions. I left them as they were, thinking that she might come back to get them."

The assassin smiled, his 'scary' side fading away almost at once. "Thank you," he said, genuinely pleased with the information. "You've been very helpful."

He dropped a coin purse onto the counter; it fell with a heavy thud against the wood, coins clinking inside of it. Without another word, he scooped up his mug and left the bar, crossing the inn's floor to one of the chairs on the opposite side.

He sank down into it, mug resting on his thigh, and stared into the fire. He would wait. He was good at waiting.

He didn't have to wait long, however. Within the hour, the door to the inn blew open, snow rushing in. Behind it came a Nord who was dressed in mismatching armor. She had blonde hair; it was pulled out of her face. When she turned around after closing the door, a shock of recognition raced up the assassin's back. He knew this Nord.

All red cheeked and smiling because of and despite the snow, she walked over to the bar and ordered herself a warm drink as well. After she'd received it, and paid for it, she left the main hall for her rented room, the door closing behind her.

The assassin finished off his own mug. He eyed the innkeeper for a moment, waiting to see what they would do.

After a few minutes, they finished with cleaning off the bar, and disappeared down the stairs into the basement of the inn.

The assassin wasted no more time. He quickly stood and hurried across the inn to the closed door. He tested it; it was unlocked.

Slowly, he pushed the door open. The young Nord was seated at the table in the room, examining a map laid out on the table in front of her. She looked up at the sound of the door opening, and her eyes widened as the assassin lowered his hood and closed the door behind him.

"Well," she started when he didn't say anything. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you again."

"I didn't think I'd be seeing you again, either," he answered. He leaned his bow against the wall, and rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger. "It appears, however, that the Gods chose to let us meet once more, and this time, one of us is going to die."

The Nord, Cry Silverworthy, gazed at him for a moment, and then she leaned her head back and laughed. The assassin, Hainin Marshal, was taken aback by the outburst, and he stood there dumbly, blinking at her.

Cry's laughter was pure, and loud, and obviously authentic, for when she finally quieted down, she brought up a hand to wipe away a few tears.

"You won't be killing me today," she told him, and, for whatever reason, Hainin realized she was right.

Slowly, he removed his hand from his dagger. "I'll have to tell the others something," he said after a moment, during which she'd gone back to studying her map. She looked over at him again, and he planted his hands on his hips. "I can't just say that I couldn't kill you because you kept my head from getting cut off."

Cry considered this for a moment, and then she shrugged her shoulders. "Just tell them I wasn't here," she said. She frowned at him. "I hadn't thought you to be an assassin."

"Yeah, well… I wasn't, up until a month ago," Hainin admitted.

"And they sent you to kill me?" Cry asked in surprise.

He shrugged. "I'm pretty good already. I've been training more than anything." He gestured to his bow. "I didn't know how to even hold one of these a month ago, and now I hit every target."

Cry smiled at him. "That's impressive. Good for you."

She looked down at her map again, and Hainin hesitated another moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"I might be sent after you again, when we figure out where you are later on," he told her.

Cry didn't look up this time. "Then I guess we'll see what happens then, won't we?" she asked him.

"I guess so," Hainin agreed quietly. He retrieved his bow. "It was nice seeing you again, uhm…"

"Cry," she supplied.

"Cry," he repeated. "I'm Hainin, in case you forgot."

Here, she raised her eyes from the map, and they met his, glittering. "I didn't."

"Right," Hainin said. "Thank you, for that. I guess… I guess I might see you again."

"I guess you might," Cry responded. "Have a good day."

"You too."

With that, Hainin turned and fled the room, only pausing to close the door courteously behind him.

* * *

The second time they heard of her location, Hainin was finally told why the man wanted her dead so badly.

"She's the Dragonborn, and he thinks she's responsible for bringing the dragons back," Nazir explained. "Now go, and please actually kill her this time."

So Hainin had made the day long journey by carriage to Solitude. When he'd reached the city, night had already fallen, and the innkeeper told him that she hadn't purchased a room. He had no other ideas, so he'd gotten a room himself and resolved to look for her in the morning.

After running into yet another unexpected face, he'd quickly departed from Solitude's city square and headed deeper into the city itself. He'd spotted Cry in the crowd that had gathered to watch the guard's execution, and he now he needed to find her.

He ducked into an alleyway between two buildings. He saw her walk past, looking as though she had no idea what she was doing, or why she was in Solitude in the first place. She seemed… lost, and all at once, Hainin lost his desire to 'actually kill her this time'.

With a sigh, he pushed his way out of the alley, and called out to her.

Cry turned around as his voice, and she blinked, but then she smiled, and walked over to him.

"Hello, Hainin," she greeted. "Are you here to actually kill me, this time?"

"I was going to," he said, "but then I noticed that you look lost. What're you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to meet someone," Cry explained. "At the inn. But… he wasn't in there, so I'm wondering if maybe he came out here to watch the execution, and then just decided not to go back to the inn at all."

"Oh." Hainin glanced over his shoulder, towards where the crowd that had gathered was still dispersing, and then he turned back around to face her. "Maybe you could try again later?"

"I'm sort of on a time crunch," Cry replied. "Do you think you could help me find him?"

Hainin hesitated a moment. He knew that if he didn't kill her this time, he'd be in trouble with Astrid and Nazir both. But, seeing the expression on her face made him think that killing her now wouldn't be the smartest idea. She had something to do, first, and if he tried to kill her before she could do it, then everything would be ruined.

So, he nodded. "Sure, I'll help," he agreed. "Who is he?"

"An elf," Cry told him, sounding relieved. "His name is Malborn."

"Well, then he shouldn't be too hard to find," Hainin commented. Cry looked at him, confused, and he frowned. "What?"

"Why not? Aren't there a lot of elves in Solitude?" she asked, and Hainin slowly shook his head.

"No, not since the civil war started," he responded. "How long were you away from Skyrim?"

Cry hesitated a moment before replying, her eyes drifting past him to something only she could see. "Too long," she murmured softly, and then she let out a breath.

Hainin watched her, his eyebrows drawing together, and then he cleared his throat. "Let's try the inn again," he suggested. "Maybe you just didn't see him in the crowd, and now he's back inside."

That brought her back to the present, and she returned her gaze to him, nodding. "I guess that's a better idea than going through the entire city," she said.

Hainin nodded, and then gestured for her to lead the way. She did so, walking in front of him in the direction of the inn. Hainin trailed behind her a bit, realizing how easy it would be for him to grab her, drag her into an alley, and stab her without anyone noticing.

His hand twitched in the direction of his dagger, but he couldn't force it to grab the hilt and pull it out. Instead, his hand fell once more to his side as they reached the inn, and Cry pushed the door open.

It was filled with people once more, most of them talking about the execution. In one corner, however, sat a wood elf, alone at his table.

Hainin nudged Cry, and gestured towards him. "That the one?"

Cry looked the elf over, and then shrugged. "I guess he might be. I won't know until I talk to him." She looked at Hainin. "Thank you."

"I didn't do much," he replied, and she smiled at him.

"No," she agreed, "but you didn't kill me."

"I guess that's true," Hainin said after a moment. "I'll really have to kill you next time, though. I think I'll have run out of excuses by then."

Cry shrugged. "I suppose if you really have too, then you can try your best," she said. "I'll see you then."

With that, she left him at the door of the inn, walking over to the table where the wood elf sat. She settled down in the chair across from him, and they began to speak quietly with one another.

Hainin watched this interaction for a moment before slipping back out of the inn, already trying to decide on what to use as his reasoning for not killing the Dragonborn this time around.

* * *

The third time, Hainin came across her all on his own, and he decided that he really did need to just get this over and done with, to save himself from another scolding from Nazir. He hated it when the Redguard scolded him; it made him feel like a child.

He crossed the Whiterun marketplace until he was standing in front of a stand. He pretend to inspect its wares as he tracked Cry's movements through the square. When she was out of sight, he turned away from the stand and hurried in the direction she had disappeared.

He trailed after her through the Wind District, and watched as she disappeared into the first building within the city's gates, aside from the smith. Frowning, he approached the door of the building and tested the handle. The door was still unlocked, and Hainin quickly slipped inside the private home, wondering where Cry had managed to get the key to it.

He paused once he was inside, looking around the small front room. It was a quaint little home, not much more than a firepit and some shelves. He heard movement up on the second floor, however, and Hainin moved around the firepit to reach the stairs.

He quietly crept up them, hoping the Dragonborn's hearing wasn't any better than a normal human's. His hand reached for his dagger as he neared the top of the stairs, and he actually succeeded in pulling it out of it's scabbard.

He decided this was a good sign, and he quickly crossed the small landing at the top of the stairs, going for the open set of doors to his right.

He found Cry crouched in front of a chest on the floor of the bedroom he was now in, rooting through it. He swallowed against the lump that formed in his throat when he saw her, and he started across the floor towards her, raising his dagger.

Just when he was about to reach her, there was a sharp pain in his side, and he cried out. His dagger fell from his fingers to the floor, and he collapsed himself shortly after, hand moving to grab at the wound he'd just been given.

Cry had turned around at his exclamation, and she rose to standing, crossing the small space that remained between them.

"Oh, Lydia," she sighed, gazing down at him. "You didn't have to do _that_. I heard him coming up the stairs, and I could've handled it."

"I apologize, my Thane," another female voice responded, "but I couldn't risk it. He got very close."

"I'm sorry, Hainin," Cry said to him. She turned back to the chest and reached into it. She pulled out a healing potion, and crouched down beside him. Pulling his head into her lap, she uncorked the bottle. "You'll swallow this, and it'll go away in no time."

Hainin submissively allowed her to pour the health potion into his mouth, and he relaxed as a warm feeling caressed his wounded side. He removed his hand when he no longer felt blood against his fingers, and he closed his eyes tiredly.

"Lydia is very protective of me," Cry explained to him. Her voice moved, then, probably because she'd raised her head. "Get our guest a mug of mead, and an apple."

"My Thane, he was going to kill you!" the other woman, Lydia no doubt, exclaimed.

Cry's voice returned to the position it had been at before; she was looking down at him again. "No he wasn't," she said. "Please, Liddie."

There was a soft groan of annoyance and disagreement, but then the sound of fading boots against the wooden floor.

"After you drink your mead and eat something, I think I'll have to ask you to leave," Cry said, and Hainin offered a weak nod in agreement. "I know that it seems rude, but I'm afraid Lydia might try to kill you again if I don't send you out of here."

"Understandable," Hainin admitted, his throat dry. "I did try to kill you, after all."

"I was surprised that you actually got to the point of drawing your dagger, this time," Cry told him, helping him sit up. She reached for the fallen weapon, and looked it over. "This is really nice craftsmanship. Where did you get it?"

"The Brotherhood has a member who's always dabbling at the forge and the grindstone," Hainin answered, moving so that he could lean back against the bed instead of support himself. He grunted a bit as he did so, and then he gestured to the dagger in her hands. "I paid twenty gold pieces for that."

"He made you pay?" Cry asked in surprise.

"I may or may not have lost a bet," Hainin replied sheepishly, and Cry grinned in amusement.

At that moment, Lydia returned. "Here," she said gruffly, forcing a mug and an apple into Hainin's hands. She then retreated to the other side of the room and leaned against the wall there, watching him through narrowed eyes all the while.

"You don't have to stay, Liddie," Cry told her. "I doubt he'll try to kill me again."

"I'd rather not take any chances, my Thane," Lydia replied, eyes not leaving Hainin, who pretended he couldn't hear them and took a bite out of the apple. It was very sweet.

He munched and crunched on the fruit, and drank the mead up in deep gulps. Lydia scowled at him the entire time, while Cry merely watched him with an amused expression.

When he was done eating, Hainin burped quietly, excused himself, and glanced around for a place to dispose of the apple core and empty mug.

"I'll help you downstairs," Cry suggested, standing up, and Hainin nodded in agreement, dropping the core into the mug.

As the two of them past Lydia, the dark haired Nord moved away from the wall and followed them to the top of the stairs, but that was where she stayed. Hainin glanced over his shoulder once Cry led him down the stairs.

"She is protective of you," he said, and Cry nodded.

"It's her job to be."

"So, you're a thane, huh?" Hainin asked her, and handed her the mug when she held out a hand for it.

Cry nodded again. "I uh… sort of gained the title shortly after the events of Helgen by helping Whiterun with a dragon attack of their own." She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't exactly feel like I deserve the title, but what can you do?"

She put the mug down on the table in the small makeshift kitchen, and looked at him. "What are you going to tell them this time?" she asked, and Hainin grinned.

"I'll tell them that your housecarl stabbed me," he said. "At least it won't be another lie."

"That's true," Cry said. "Will you still get yelled at?"

"Probably, and it'll sink my pride even lower than it already is, but…" He shrugged. "What can you do?"

"Next time I'll make sure you actually have a chance, I promise."

Hainin nodded in agreement. "Thanks. I'll see you then."

He left her alone in the kitchen, leaving through the front door. He knew that there would be a next time, but he didn't think that he would kill her then, either.

In fact, Hainin was beginning to wonder if he was even meant to kill her at all.

* * *

Hainin found her just as she was leaving Whiterun the next time. He'd waited outside for her, knowing that she was in the city, and not wanting to miss her as she left.

When she did, he waited to make sure she was alone before trailing after her, sticking to the shadows as he did so. Cry didn't seem to notice he was following her, for she simply continued to walk.

As they left the general vicinity of the city, and Cry walked off the street entirely onto the plains of Whiterun, Hainin frowned to himself. That didn't seem like something that a mark who didn't know they were being trailed would do.

With a sigh, he removed himself from his hiding position and followed after her. She obviously knew he was there; what was the point in trying to keep from sight?

Cry led him deep into the plains, far enough away that no one would find them for at least a day, if one of them were to fall during this confrontation. She then turned around to face him.

"Well," she said, seeing him. "I guess this is the last time we'll meet, isn't it?"

"If I'm lucky," Hainin agreed, drawing his bow. He pulled an arrow back in the string, and took aim. The arrowhead pointed to the place between her breasts. "Remember how I told you before that I can hit every mark?"

"Yes," Cry answered.

"I'm even better, now," Hainin concluded, drawing the arrow back further.

"That's good," Cry responded. "You'll have to be."

Hainin released the arrow, and it flew towards Cry. She easily sidestepped out of its way, and it fell into the grass behind her. She glanced over her shoulder towards its landing place, and then she looked at him again, just in time to see he'd already released another arrow.

This one managed to skim her shoulder before she could move, and she reached up to touch the wound. A thin line of blood came away on her finger tips.

"That was closer," she said to him, and then she reached up to pull her greatsword out of its scabbard on her back. "It missed, though."

Hainin was busy putting another arrow in place, and Cry decided that going after him while he was distracted wouldn't be very fair of her, so she waited for him to get situated. When he lifted his eyes from his arrow, she ran towards him, greatsword up.

Hainin yelped rather comically and dove out of the way, his readied arrow disappearing into the grass as he dropped it. Cry stopped in the place where he'd been, panting from her sprint towards him, and she turned in his direction.

"I don't want to have to fight you," she said to him.

"Me, either," he admitted, straightening up, "but I have to kill you. I've already walked away from you three times."

"What's one more?" she asked, and Hainin hesitated, his hand lingering above the quiver of arrows that hung from his back. "I know you don't actually want to kill me."

"No," he sighed. "I feel like I have too, though. Someone killed his mother as the Black Sacrament for this job. Obviously, he really wants you dead."

A look of hurt crossed over Cry's features. "Who?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," Hainin answered. He dropped his hand back to his side. "I just know that he wants you dead because he thinks you're the one who's bringing the dragons back."

Cry visibly swallowed, and she turned her gaze towards the ground. "And maybe he's right," she murmured, almost so quietly that Hainin didn't catch it.

He did, however, and he silently put his bow back over his quiver. "I can't kill you, Cry," he sighed tiredly. "I know that I should, but… I can't."

She glanced up again, and offered him a thin smile. "I would say that's good to hear, but… now I'm not quite sure how I feel about the whole death thing. Maybe it'd be better for everyone if I were to die."

Hainin didn't even pause before saying, "No it wouldn't."

Cry furrowed her brows, but before she could say anything, there was a loud screech from somewhere in the distance. Hainin stiffened and Cry's shoulders set as they both recognized what it was.

"I guess I should go kill that," the Dragonborn said.

"Sure, have fun," Hainin responded. "Try not to get killed yourself."

Cry actually laughed. "All right," she answered.

With that, she hurried away across the plain in the direction of the dragon that was making its way towards some unsuspecting town, and Hainin fled in the complete opposite direction.

* * *

 **There's a second chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, nor do I own any of the Skyrim characters that make a brief appearance in this short story.**

* * *

 **And this is the second half.**

 **I didn't really show the evolution of Cry and Hainin's friendship the way I wanted, but I think it's an okay drabble, anyhow.**

* * *

Mumbling to herself about Markarth and Forsworn and sabrecats, Cry made her way down the stone road through the hilly Reach of Skyrim, doing her best to keep from tripping over every bump in the path.

She was returning to Sky Haven Temple after retrieving some much needed information from the friend she'd discovered in the Graybeards' leader. She needed to tell the Blades that she had no intention of killing the dragon that had once fought on the side of the enemy, but was now the very opposite of what a dragon should be.

Paarthurnax did not deserve to die, and she was going to make Delphine and Esbern see reason, despite knowing that she needed to return to Whiterun as soon as she could, to capture a dragon that would tell her where Alduin had gone.

If she was being honest with herself, she would have admitted to going to see the Blades before capturing the dragon because she was terrified by the _idea_ of capturing the dragon.

So, here she was, the mighty Dragonborn, shuffling along the road at the speed of a horker because of the fading light, not wanting to needlessly injure herself. What a brave, desirable sight she must have made just then.

Cry stepped around another rock in her way, grunting as she did so. How many stray boulders could there possibly be on one road?

A sound to the right of her made her freeze, her internal cursing silencing. She strained her ears, waiting for the noise again, or at least another noise that would signify she _had_ heard something.

Instead of hearing a noise, the Dragonborn was knocked to the ground by a flash of magefire.

Cry let out a panicked yelp as she hit the hard stones, and she reached over and cupped her burnt right shoulder with her left hand in order to protect it from further damage. She then rolled to the left, barely avoiding yet another flash of fire that was sent in her direction.

Scrambling to her feet, Cry didn't even bother trying to see what was attacking her. She raced away from the assailant, running as fast as her legs could take her down the road, huffing and puffing. Her arm felt like it was still on fire, and, as she ducked behind a huge rock on the side of the road, she removed her fingers from the burn to inspect the damage.

Her entire right shoulder was burnt black. Red lacerations covered it as well, places where the fire had gone straight through her skin. To top it all, it _hurt_.

"Divines," Cry muttered, and then froze when she heard the same noise as before come from the other side of the rock she was hidden behind. Before, she hadn't been able to discern the sound, her other thoughts having taken precedent over recognition. Now, however, she realized she knew exactly what the sound was, and it sent a chill through her entire body, even into her burnt shoulder.

 _Hagraven_.

She'd only fought the evil, witch-creatures once, and it was not a fight she liked to remember. She'd sustained more than one injury from the battle, including a burn similar to the one now on her shoulder, and she was not looking forward to receiving more.

The sound came again, and Cry stiffened, leaning back against the rock, her left hand returning to her shoulder. Her mind whirred, trying to make sense of the situation and come up with a solution at the same time, which it did, in a matter of two seconds.

Cry had only one choice if she wanted to get away, and ensure the Hagraven didn't follow her.

Inhaling, Cry prepared herself, and then stepped out from behind the rock. The Hagraven was skulking only two feet away, and she let out a croaking yell when she saw Cry.

Fire burned in the Dragonborn's chest as fire burned on the tips of the Hagraven's gnarled fingers.

" _Yol… Toor_!"

A burst of flame blew out of Cry's mouth and hit the witch. The Hagraven screeched as she flew backwards into a tree on the side of the road. Cry wasted no time in turning tail and running away as fast as she could up the road, leaving the burning Hagraven behind her.

Cry ran until she could run no longer. She slowly came to a stop, and leaned over, her breathing irregular. She struggled to get it back, straightening up and inhaling the night air as deeply as she could. Her shoulder was stinging like no other, and Cry knew she needed to get a health potion into her system to help heal it.

She crouched down in the center of the road, gently reaching up to pull her pack off of her shoulders. She rooted around in it for a moment with her left hand, and quickly found a bottle. She was pulling it out when she was suddenly kicked from behind, and sent into a puddle on the road a few inches away from her bag.

The Dragonborn let out a groan; she'd landed on her injured shoulder. She'd heard her greatsword clatter to the stones somewhere nearby, and she did her best to glance around for it before she was kicked at again, this time held to the road so that she couldn't move. A sharp stab went through her side, and she let out a pain-wracked scream at the sensation.

"This is Forsworn territory," a gruff voice told her, as the stabbing happened again, only in reverse. Cry blinked blurry, tear-filled eyes, and watched the boots of a Briarheart as he stalked away from her down the road.

She had been left for dead.

The realization of this caused a strange bubble of amused hysteria to rise in her chest, and, if she hadn't been in so much pain, she probably would have laughed.

Cry decided that she needed to at least get out of the middle of the road. When she tried to move, even the slightest, however, she found that she was incapable.

 _I can't move._

Instead of amused hysteria, this time it was only hysteria. Cry started to panic.

 _No, no, I can't die. I haven't fulfilled my destiny yet. I must kill Alduin._

She could feel a warm liquid pooling beneath her side, where the stabbing sensation had been the worst. The Briarheart must have sent his weapon straight through her.

 _Cry was going to die._

She struggled to turn her head to the side, so that her face wasn't pressed directly into the stone road. If she was going to die, without having fulfilled her destiny, she could at least do it in a more comfortable position.

How comfortable could she get, though, really? With a burnt shoulder and an injury that was going to lead to her bleeding out, was comfort really a thing she could experience just then?

Frustration mingled with disappointment as she realized just how she'd gotten to this position. She had been so worried about getting her barely injured shoulder healed that she'd been snuck up on.

Vilkas would be furious. So would Aela. Farkas would shake his head, and Skjor would've insulted her, calling her an 'insolent whelp', or something similar.

She missed Skjor. And Kodlak. She missed the Companions. She wished they were there with her, although, at the same time, she didn't, because she knew they'd only be upset with what she'd done.

Some Harbinger/Dragonborn she was, killed off by a Hagraven and a Briarheart in the middle of the Reach. She had a feeling that any songs sung about her would only be tunes about her pitiful death, and not of her great feats.

Not that there were many.

 _It's poetic, actually. Death by the very people you were trying to escape from only ten years ago._

She managed a chortle. So much for revenge on the Reachmen for what they'd done to her parents.

She could hear the rushing waters of the river nearby that ran from the bottom of the Reach to the top. She had fond memories of that river, skipping stones across it as a child when her parents would take her and her sister on trips into Markarth. The city had been nicer then, less dirty and corrupt.

Cry focused on the sounds of the river, finding herself humming along with it. It did resemble music, in a way. She wondered if a bard had ever attempted to do that, to write a song that mimicked the sound of water. If she decided not to die in the middle of the road, she'd have to see about it.

Her eyes had closed long before, but she only realized it when she opened them again. It was only possible to do so for a moment or two, before they drooped and had to shut again.

 _Can I really be bleeding out that quickly?_ she thought in amazement. _The Gods really do want me to die, don't they?_

She chose to laugh at this thought, and she coughed immediately afterwards. The kicks that the Briarheart had hit her with must have broken a rib or two.

The pool of blood, which had been progressively getting bigger and stickier, had spread out beyond her side and was thickening beneath her belly and near her thighs. Cry could feel it, and was slightly disgusted. Her armor was going to be ruined.

 _Is that really all you can think about? Your armor?_

The dry thought-question reminded her of Skjor, and Cry once again felt sad.

Her eyes drifted shut again, and this time, stayed shut. She found herself wandering her mind, and she came face to face with the dragon inside of her. The beast was asleep, smoke billowing out of its nostrils for every breath it took. Cry reached out and pressed a hand to its dark red scales, which were warm to the touch.

 _I'm sorry_ , she apologized to it. _I've failed. The gift you gave me will never be used again._

The dragon didn't even stir. Cry wondered for a moment of it was a metaphor for her body's own position and state.

She decided that the dragon looked a lot more peaceful than she felt.

That was a lie, though. She did feel oddly calm, despite knowing her situation was dire. Unable to move meant she couldn't crawl to her bag and get a potion. No potion meant no healing, and nonhealing meant death.

Cry was basically already dead, if she thought all the way through it.

So, like the dragon had already done, she allowed herself to drift away into sleep, all thoughts of the blood pooling beneath her fading, and any qualms she had about dying fading as well.

* * *

Hainin panted as he made the last few steps up to the top of the rise, and when he reached it, he allowed himself to raise his arms above his head in victory before hunching over, resting his palms on his knees.

"Hoo, boy," he said through inhalations. "I _hate_ Markarth!"

He slumped against a giant rock beside the side of the road, and began to think about how much he also hated Nazir, when the familiar smell of something burning entered his nostrils.

Frowning to himself, Hainin backed away from the rock, and ran his hand over the scorch marks on the side of it. Looking down, he saw similar marks marring the road, and the fallen heap of a Hagraven further away from him.

Cautiously, Hainin approached the body, and relaxed when he saw that it was dead. Something had done a number on the creature; it was burned very badly.

Further down the road, Hainin spotted another figure, although this one wasn't a Hagraven. He quickly left the creature behind in favor of seeing what else had suffered from whatever had happened here, and he slowed down considerably as he drew closer and realized what it was.

Cry lay in a slowly thickening pool of her own blood. Her greatsword lay just out of reach of her right arm, which was folded at an awkward angle next to her side. Her eyes were closed, and he could see she had a burn of her own on one shoulder.

For a long, dreadful moment, he considered leaving her where she was. She didn't seem to be breathing, and he could finally tell Astrid and Nazir that he'd managed to kill the Dragonborn. It would be a white lie, since this wasn't his handiwork at all, but she'd be dead. What more was there?

But then that same feeling that he always got when he was about to kill her entered him, and it took Hainin two more seconds before he sighed to himself and crouched down next to her, looking for the source of the bleeding, first.

He found a big, gaping wound on her side, oddly near the same place that her housecarl Lydia had stabbed him, and he gingerly rolled Cry over onto her back so that he could better deal with it. Reaching for her pack, which had been dropped some steps away from where she lay, he was relieved to find a big glowing health potion inside of it.

"All right, Cry," he said, pulling her head into his lap. "Drink this for me."

He opened her mouth, and forced some of the potion into it. He then covered her mouth with his free hand and gazed at her throat, waiting to see if she'd swallow the potion. When her throat constricted, he exhaled, and poured more in.

When he'd gotten her to drink half of the potion, he poured the rest of it directly onto the stab wound on her side. Babette had told him before that doing this wouldn't do much more than stop a wound's bleeding, but Hainin thought was was necessary at this point. He couldn't believe Cry was still alive after losing all this blood already, but she would be fine, now.

Already, the burn on her shoulder was fading to nothing more than an angry red, and the slow flow of blood from her side had stopped. Still, he needed to wrap it, probably, just to make sure it would stay that way.

Reaching for her pack again, he fumbled around inside it for a moment, searching for a roll of bandage linen. He found some after a moment, and he pushed the pack away, then turned his gaze down to her.

It was then that he realized that, if he was going to wrap her wound, he'd have to take her armor off. And her tunic off.

Hainin swallowed. He wasn't afraid of a naked woman. In fact, that was probably one of the least scary things to him. No, he was more afraid of how Cry would react if she were to wake up and find herself naked with Hainin looming over her.

He glanced between her face and the bandages. He had a feeling that she wouldn't be stirring anytime soon, especially since she'd just drank half a giant health potion. He could take her armor and tunic off, wrap the wound, and put them both back on before she woke. He'd undressed a woman in less than a minute before; what would be different when it came to this?

It took him longer than a minute, mostly because he wasn't entirely sure where all the buckles on her armor were, but he finally managed to get both her cuirass and her tunic off of her body. Both were ruined, but that was the least of Hainin's worries as he finally caught full sight of her stab wound. A nasty looking blade had done the damage; it looked like it had had extra blades along the main blade, and each one of them had sliced into her.

Inhaling against the scent of drying, coagulating blood, Hainin started to wrap the bandage around her. He was no priest, nor was he even close to being qualified to be a healer, but he knew the basics of it; wrap the wound tightly and completely, to keep it from bleeding. So, that was what he did. Five wraps around her entire torso used up all of the bandages, and Hainin assumed that was probably more than necessary, seeing how thick it looked after he was done.

He shrugged his shoulders. She could live with it.

He began to reach for her tunic, but hesitated when he saw the ruin that it was. Frowning to himself, he reached for her pack, hoping that she'd had the foresight to bring along an extra.

Fortunately, the great Dragonborn must have liked to have a clean tunic to change into after her morning baths in the nearest stream, because a tunic lay at the very bottom of the pack.

Hainin quickly slipped it over her head and arms, and then laid her back against the stone path. There was no point in putting the cuirass back on; it was even worse off than the tunic was.

Hainin scooted backwards away from her. He didn't know what he was supposed to do now. Did he wait here until she woke up, or did he leave, and hide somewhere to watch from a distance? She didn't really need to know that it had been him to help her; all that she needed to know was that she was alive.

He was debating this when there was the sound of voices from the direction he himself had come. Hainin stiffened and glanced at Cry one more time before quickly standing and hurrying away to hide in the bushes along the side of the path.

He looked up the road, in the direction the voices had come from. He saw first one figure, and then another, come over the rise. They both paused next to the Hagraven, as he had, and then the smaller figure noticed Cry.

He ducked further into the bushes as the two of them came hurrying down the road towards her. There was a man and a woman, both Nords. The man was short but muscular, and he reached Cry first. The woman was redheaded, and she paused a few steps behind him, inhaling sharply, presumably as the scent of blood hit her.

"Is she all right?" she asked the man.

"Someone's already found her, and helped her," he responded, looking over Hainin's work. "They didn't know what they were doing, exactly, but they wrapped up her wound, so that's all that I care about." He exhaled, and bowed his head. "We should get her back to Jorrvaskr."

 _Jorrvaskr_. Hainin mused over the new information. That was where the Companions made their home, in Whiterun. Was Cry a Companion?

The man moved away long enough to retrieve Cry's greatsword, and he slid it over his shoulder, along with her pack. The woman approached at last, to help pick Cry up. She moved to the Dragonborn's feet while the man took over at her head. He slid his hands beneath her shoulders, rather gingerly, Hainin thought, and, together, they lifted her into the air with barely any struggle at all.

Hainin watched until they disappeared back over the rise, carefully supporting Cry between the two of them, and then he slipped out of the bushes again.

He was never going to hear the end of _this_.

* * *

The assassin settled down on the bench outside of the Dragonborn's home, arms crossed and waiting. He knew that she had to come out eventually, and he had some things to discuss with her.

He didn't need to wait long, just as he hadn't needed to wait long the first time he'd gone looking for her. She emerged from the Companions' home, dressed as though she were about to go on a journey, and she started down the stairs in the direction he sat.

He waited, patiently, to see if she would notice him on her own. She did, because she looked at him as she started through the Cloud District, but she hesitated a moment before moving towards him.

"Hello, Hainin," she greeted, pausing in front of where he sat on the bench. "What are you doing here?"

"Well." He uncrossed his arms and stretched them above his head. "I wanted to see if you'd healed all right after your adventures in the Reach."

Cry blinked at him for a moment. "It was you, then," she concluded. "You were the one who bandaged me up before Vilkas and Aela arrived."

Hainin offered her a grin. "You got me."

"Well, then I suppose I owe you my life, don't I?" Cry queried.

"That's typically how things go, yes," Hainin agreed, folding his hands in his lap.

Cry exhaled. "And you've come to claim your debt?"

Hainin titled his head back and forth. "I wouldn't say that," he said. "This visit is more like… a reminder of that debt."

"Wow," Cry stated, sounding surprised. "So, after all those attempts to kill me, you're just… not going to?"

"Yep," Hainin responded cheerfully. "It'll happen, one of these days, but for now, it's enough to know that I held your life in my hands, and I let you keep it, completely on my own will." He stood up and stretched again. "I do have a favor to ask, though.

"Oh?" Cry raised an eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

"If we ever come across one another again," Hainin began, moving around her, "it be great if you pretended you didn't like me very much."

"And why's that?" Cry asked him.

"Well, y'know." Hainin shrugged. "I'm an assassin. I have to have some kind of reputation, right? I can't be the assassin who saved the life of the kill he'd been tracking for months. That's just not right."

Cry gazed at him for another moment, and then she smiled. "All right," she said. "Whatever you want, Hainin."

"Thanks," Hainin said, and then he offered her a grin of his own. "Thanks for saving the world, by the way. Don't think I said that to you, yet."

"No, you didn't," Cry replied, "but you should be thanking yourself."

"Why's that?"

"Because, if you hadn't saved my life, I wouldn't have been able to save the world," Cry explained. She reached forward and gave Hainin a pat on the shoulder. "So, technically, you saved the world."

Hainin thought about this for a moment, and then he shook his head. "No."

"No?" Cry asked him.

"I don't want that kind of responsibility," he told her. "Glory isn't really what I was looking for when I became an assassin." He bowed to her. "That's all on you, Dragonborn."

With that, the assassin turned and walked away from her, leaving the Dragonborn to gaze after him, unable to do anything but smile.

* * *

 **Goodie. So that's that. Maybe I'll write something more later on. If anyone has any ideas, leave a review on this short little story, and let me know what characters you want to see, and in what situation, and I'll do my best if I like any of them. I'll credit you, of course, if I end up using any of your ideas.**

 **Also, I'm debating on whether to start posting chapters of the final full-length Fiction. It's pretty long already, and I feel like, if I pace chapters, they'll hold out until I actually finish it.**

 **I haven't thought of a name for it yet, though, so that's kind of holding me back.**

 **I don't know. We'll see what happens.**

 **All right, see you all later, whether in the next one-shot, or maybe in the final installment of this saga.**

 **Adios.**


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